“NO PIANO NOW, Kyra,” Father says. And right when he says that there’s a tap at the door.
“They’re here,” Margaret says and Mother Sarah says, “Coming to see us,” and sits up straighter. She is pale and in the light of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling I can see her face is damp with sweat. She must feel awful.
Father sets Trevor and Foster on the floor and goes to the door. Quick, I pray one more time. “Please, dear Jesus. Please.”
Everyone is silent.
The only sound is Father’s church shoes on the floor as he walks over to open the front door. The room has grown hot with our being together.
“Ow,” Laura says.
“Sorry,” I say, realizing that I’m squeezing her hand too hard. I let go.
Please, please, Jesus. I’ll believe. I’ll be good if you choose my father. I’ll never think of killing anyone again. I swear it. I can’t quite say anything about the reading and there’s no time to think anything more than Joshua’s name.
Father opens the door.
“Prophet Childs,” he says. “Brother Fields. Brother Stephens. Welcome. Oh!” Father’s voice sounds full of smiles. “Hyrum, I didn’t see you back there. Come on in.”
The four men move into the room. We offer our Prophet the comfortable chair and he takes it. Mother Victoria moves to the floor and sits near his feet. The other brethren, including my uncle, settle into the kitchen chairs.
“Brother Carlson,” Prophet Childs says. He is thin as a tree, tall with eyes so dark they look black. His brown hair is slicked back from his forehead, the comb lines visible. He smiles at us all. Lifts his hands to us. “Look at this family. Look at your heritage to the Lord, Brother Carlson.”
My father nods, beaming.
“Beautiful family,” the Prophet says. “Your older boys are honorable young men.” He nods. “The older girls are . . .” He stops. He’s looking at Emily. Our wonderful Emily. Right then I see her the way our Prophet must. I see her wide face, her slanted eyes, her smile that’s almost glowing. She looks at him with so much love I cannot understand how he cannot love her back. But I know he doesn’t. I’ve heard him say he doesn’t. I’ve heard him condemn her.
And I know what they do to those who are not whole.
“SINNERS ARE SICK. Sinners are not complete. Sinners do not please God and are cursed,” he has said in meetings.
Some of the congregation cheers. Some sing, “Amen.” Some are quiet. Our family is quiet.
“The unwhole won’t meet God,” he says. “Those who are lacking here,” tapping his head, “or here,” tapping his eyes, “or here,” tapping his heart, “do not qualify for the kingdom.”
I know it happens. It’s all part of the New Cleansing and mothers don’t talk of it much. The New Cleansing is part of what’s quiet around here.
Sister Janie Abbott had two baby boys. Tiny things. Not more than a pound or two. One died after an hour. But the one like Emily, he lived awhile.
Prophet Childs went to their trailer. Sister Janie wasn’t but thirteen. A first wife to her husband just six years older. She cried for a long time when they said the unwhole shouldn’t live. She cried, hanging on to that baby as long as she could. But at last Prophet Childs had her talked out of that tiny thing.
They did away with him.
Not sure how, but I know they did. I listened in on Mother Victoria telling Mother Sarah and Mother Claire. She whispered the whole story to my mothers while I stood in the dark of the living room, quiet in the night so they might not notice me.
“They killed that unfit baby,” Mother Victoria said. Her voice was full of something. Sorrow? I waited in the dark, not moving, my skin cold prickles from her words. “Thank God, thank God, the revelation came after Emily was born. This prophet’s father was nothing like he is.”
“That’s right,” Mother Sarah said.
And Mother Claire said, her voice low, too, “This is a new Prophet. A new leader. A new time. He’s not a thing like his father. Things were hard before. They’re harder now.” There was silence and then, “God is mysterious.”
Prophet Childs became prophet when his father died seven years back. The mantle was handed down to him. The line of authority going through the blood. That’s what Father says. There was a big funeral when Prophet Childs’s father passed.
But not even a tiny burial gathering for those two babies of Sister Janie’s.
I’ve seen her since, great big with child again, out in the cemetery, kneeling over those two small graves that Brother Abbott dug while she stood by, alone, and watched.
NOW PROPHET CHILDS looks around the room at us. Mother Victoria wraps her arms about Emily, who says, “The Prophet. The Prophet. See him?” and lets out a laugh full of joy.
“Quiet the girl, Sister Victoria,” Uncle Hyrum says. His eyebrows meet right over his nose with his unhappiness.
“Hush now, Emily,” Mother Victoria says. She looks nervous, the way she glances at Uncle Hyrum and then at Brother Fields and Brother Stephens and last of all at the Prophet.
“Duck, duck, duck,” Emily says.
“Shhh, shhh,” Mother Victoria whispers. “Shhh for now, my sweet girl.”
Emily goes quiet. But she looks me right in the eyes and grins full on. She gives me a thumbs-up sign, and if I weren’t so worried about everything, I would laugh.
“Brother Carlson,” Prophet Childs says to Father, at last.
Father nods, hands clasped. His face is still pink, but there’s worry near his mouth.
“I have joyous news.”
Laura, sitting so still beside me, takes in a breath of air. Now she grabs my hand and squeezes.
“I’ve been in the belly of the Temple for some time. Thinking, praying”—he points his finger toward the lightbulb—“and talking with God. It has been revealed to me that your oldest daughter, Sister Kyra, is to wed Apostle Hyrum Carlson. She will be his seventh wife in the Lord.”
The room goes dead quiet. Not one sound. I think, Father hasn’t been called after all. And then Prophet Childs’s words sink in, sink in, sink in.
Me? What? Me to be married? I think I have no blood. I think I have lost the ability to breathe.
“Is this not a joyous occasion?” Prophet Childs says, and Brother Stephen lets out a “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
Uncle Hyrum looks right at me.
I feel my face burn.
“The ceremony is in four Sundays, after ser vices,” the Prophet says.
It’s at that moment I find my tongue. Before my mothers, before my father. Laura’s hand is squeezing me tight and I smell body odor. I think it’s me.
“What?” I say.
“In a light bright as the sun the revelation came,” Prophet Childs says. He stares over our heads like he’s seeing things all over again. “The two of you at the stone altar, wearing the ceremonial dress, Brother Hyrum standing, you kneeling at his feet. I saw it all. I saw it all. You have been saved for him.”
Uncle Hyrum nods. “I will treat you well, Sister Kyra,” he says. “We will raise children unto the Lord.”